For the first time all hour, the support group goes quiet. They mull Yoda’s words. Yoda mulls his own words, standing on his folding chair. Hulk’s squeaks under him as he scratches his green stubble in contemplation. The Grinch sneers out the window, slouching towards Hooville; he’s only here on a court order. The rest see possible community. Minorities with a strength in numbers.
“You don’t understand,” says Kermit. Morally reluctant to the last. “My girlfriend isn’t just going to let me go. She’s possessive.”
A long green arm stretches out a long green hand, which in turn stretches out a long green fingernail. Its owner isn’t sitting on a folding chair; she only ever sits astride her levitating broom. They know it as certain as they know to never call her ‘Elphaba.’ The fingernail strokes under Kermit’s chin.
“We have ways of getting rid of undesirables, my pretty frog.”
The deal is sealed. Starting tomorrow it’s going to be easier being green.
We are the 99%. The footmen. The footwomen. The cowboys and centaurs. The winged. The serpentine and the tentacled.
The believers. The knowers. The thinkers, the drinkers, the stupors and stumblers. The nearsighted, farsighted, the foresighted, and those shot on sight.
The carnivores. The omnivores. The steam-powered, the diesel-powered, the gas-guzzling guys and gals. The fusion-powered patriots. The stardrinkers on high.
The stars and celebrities. The gods and titans. The abominations and ethereal beauties. Lockstep lovelies and things so hideous reality renders them invisible: a protest in your closet after the lights go out.
The light. The dark. The unknown and the scientific method. Anthropomorphism anthropomorphized into an old wizard who understands you. He brings a glass of water, which is sentient, but willing to martyr itself to the cause.
The nightstand. The bed. The bent elbow resting on a middle school desk. The long, lonely commute. The repetitive day out and the slow night in. The flickering instances on a date when threads of conversation wither, not yet deceased. These are the battlegrounds of the 99%.
The long-awaited Consumed Episode 2 is online. We actually recorded it back in September, along with a third episode, so I think the third one should materialize soon. The short of it is that everything is Max's fault.
The time it took us to do this makes this my favorite episode. I got to see the U.S. premiere of Sacred Star of Milos in August, which I thought would make a great feature for the podcast. It took us until September to record, and until the end of October to release it. Now I'm alerting you in November. At this point, the whole movie is probably on bit torrent somewhere. But, I think you'll enjoy my incredibly vague review anyway, especially for the bit where our film hosts were compared Nazis. Tasteful fans, us nerds.
-Captain America: The First Avenger
-I Saw the Devil
I remember my seventh grade science class. I was absorbed in the unit on life forms. It was just so neat: nothing outside history had as many opportunities for stories. I filled out all homework during study hall and even doodled an imaginary food chain at the bottom of the last work sheet. It went:
I thought I was exceedingly clever. I turned it in before the weekend, and actually hit the library to read more about biology.
The teacher returned the sheets on Tuesday. "Vampire" was crossed out. "Bacteria" was written in its place, along with a "-1." My optional food chain had lost me a point.
I think I've always liked science more than it's liked me.
Her credit card records tell the tale. At noon on the last day we saw her, Antoinette used her Visa to purchase fresh produce at the local grocery, including three pounds of garlic.
Fifteen minutes later, it is used to purchase several antiques from the pawn shop on the same street. The items include a rosary, two crucifixes and a squirt gun.
Apparently she doesn’t drive home. An hour later she is eighty miles north, gassing up her car.
Her next purchase is at 8:15. She dined through dusk at Re-Church & Development, a trendy restaurant located in a former church. One wonders if she filled the squirt gun in their sink, hoping the tap was holy. There’s no telling how long she stayed on holy ground, though she does order two desserts and a lot of coffee.
She had to leave at some time, though the credit card trail gives us nothing all night. It’s not until 5:30 in the morning when she uses the card at a 24-hour Wal-Mart. It’s four hundred miles from Re-Church & Development. There, she buys sun block.